


Before It Gets Beautiful

by Layne Faire (HisDarlin)



Series: BIGB 'verse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Headcanon, M/M, Oral Sex, liberal use of profanity, louis and harry are a sidenote, mega angst, more smut than is probably healthy, this is pretty much pure ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisDarlin/pseuds/Layne%20Faire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that Liam had a death wish. He really didn't. But sometimes, to escape the pain of the lies and deceit, he took things too far. Standing on the ledge outside his flat may have been the stupidest thing ever, especially when he had to answer for it to the person who mattered most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> so this took me forever to beat my way through, mostly because my real life enjoys taking the piss and fucking with my head. So finally, after several bouts with writer's block, here it is. 
> 
> I have no clue as to what really happened that night or once the pictures hit the internet. I have zero connection to 1D or anyone affiliated with them. I just like to make up stories in my head, and see where my imagination takes them. 
> 
> All my love and adoration to Lynn and Jesse for putting up with all my whining and bitching, to Louise for making sure my faulty American attempts at Brit speak were accurate, and Nancy for making everything readable. Any other mistakes are mine, because I don't have the good sense to leave well enough alone.
> 
> There is an obnoxiously large playlist for this fic. Not necessarily cause every song fits, but because they were needed to get me in the right headspace. Title is taken from "Don't Judge Me" by Chris Brown.

_"No one commits suicide because they want to die."_

_"Then why do they do it?"_

_"Because they want to stop the pain.”_

**Tiffanie DeBartolo, _How to Kill a Rock Star_**

 

 

The sound of a ringing phone tickled the sleep-fogged recesses of Liam’s brain, its abrupt cessation allowing him to disregard its importance. He didn’t notice Zayn sliding out of bed, or the closing of the bedroom door, only the sudden lack of a warm body pressed against his chest. Murmuring his displeasure, Liam pulled the pillow closer. Snuggling deeper under the heavy warmth of the down quilt, he breathed in the familiar scent of sandalwood that lingered on the cotton sheets and peacefully slipped back to sleep. The pleasure proved to be short lived.

Comforting warmth gave way to jarring chill, snatching Liam out of drowsy contentment. He muttered, curling in on himself, while grasping behind him for the missing blankets. Rough fingers circled his wrist, someone shook his shoulder.

“What the fucking hell were you thinking?!”

The obvious ire in Zayn’s voice jolted him even more than the sudden cold, and Liam sat bolt upright. He shivered, gooseflesh rising on his naked skin – a combined reaction to the chilly room and Zayn’s uncharacteristic panic. He scrubbed his hands across his face, a desperate attempt to clear the sleep from his eyes, then opened them to find Zayn hovering over the edge of the bed, his body vibrating with bottled fury.

“Zee?” Liam murmured dazedly; too sleep-addled to process what was happening.

“I was gone three fucking days, Liam. Three days of pure hell that I would’ve much rather spent with you. You couldn’t stay out of trouble for THREE. DAMN. DAYS?”

Liam hoped the question was rhetorical, because he didn’t have an answer. Zayn swiveled on his heel, long, agitated strides taking him back and forth across the length of the room.

Despite the obvious tension in the air, Liam couldn’t help but admire the preternatural beauty that radiated from his boyfriend. His ebony hair fell across his forehead, Liam’s fingers twitching to comb through the soft, loose strands. Thick lashes and brows softened the burnished heat in his eyes. The casually trimmed scruff that adorned his determined jaw accentuated his angular cheekbones, rather than detracting from them, curving artfully across patrician lips that, even thinned in consternation, still had the power to mesmerise Liam.

Zayn’s every angle and feature were an inexplicable study in perfection; a sonnet Liam could never hope to find the words to write. Even the way he moved had the ability to render Liam speechless. Zayn didn’t walk, he prowled; his body lithe, wiry muscles corded and taut with barely contained tension; a jungle cat ready to pounce. And pounce he did.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Liam snapped his eyes back to Zayn’s face, stifling the baffled sigh that settled in his chest. “I’m listening, but I’m arsed if I know what you’re on about.” His voice was thick, remnants of sleep still wrapped around his vocal cords and coating his tongue. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, his chin resting on a clenched fist. Clearing the thickness from his throat, he continued, “You know Tom and the lads were here. We went to Funky Buddha, like we always do. Gotta make those public appearances, yeah?” He stifled a yawn, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed, preferably with Zayn, and definitely not to sleep – at least not right away.

“What else did you do, Liam?” The sneer bit at Liam, pricking against the edges of his consciousness. He’d been drunk, really drunk, but he _knew_ nothing serious had happened, certainly not . . . “Whilst I was making an arse of myself taking selfies with a six foot fucking tall rat, what else did you do?”

Liam scoured his hazy recollections. FIFA, a trip to Funky Buddha for some photo ops – and he’d done nothing out of the ordinary there, then back to “his” flat (the one all his old friends thought he lived in alone), for some more drinks and video games. He slowly shook his head, nothing coming back to him that would have Zayn so angry.

Zayn came to a stop in front of him, dropping to a crouch and grabbing Liam’s hands. “Damn it, Li! You know I have no fucking choice but to do this bullshit with Perrie!” Liam flinched. Even two years on, he still hated hearing her name on Zayn’s lips. His gaze drifted downward, eyes shrouded to disguise his utter distaste. Zayn grabbed his chin to prevent him from looking away, pulling Liam’s head up to meet the molten fury that simmered in his burnished amber eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to pull this shit off and make it remotely convincing, if I’m constantly worried about you?”

“Babe, I swear to you, I didn’t do any –”

“Yeah, you fucking did! Doniya just called in a fucking panic because of a picture she saw on fucking Twitter! I don’t know what’s worse – the fact that you did something so inconceivably stupid, or that your friends felt the need to broadcast it to the world!”

Zayn probably thought he was being deliberately obtuse, but nothing was coming back to him. Liam searched the hidden depths of his boyfriend’s eyes, still unsure what the hell was going on. The sheen of frustrated tears he found there twisted a knife in Liam’s chest, the familiar, vibrant citrine and emerald flecks diluted and wavering in the wane late morning sunlight seeping into the room. Sighing in frustration, Liam shook his head again.

“But I didn’t –”

Zayn stood up and stormed away, not stopping until he reached the plate glass window that looked out over his garden. Rivulets of water streaked down the pane, remnants from the drizzling rain that had lulled them both to sleep only a few hours earlier. His breath fogged the cold glass, his back ramrod straight, jaw tense as he bit out his next words. “What were you doing on the fucking ledge, Liam?”

“I— what? I don’t know—” Confusion furrowed Liam’s brow. _What the hell was Zayn on about?_

“Are you fucking serious?” Zayn dug into the pocket of his joggers and tossed his phone on the bed. “It’s right there on fucking Twitter! Everyone’s talking about it, for fuck’s sake!” Zayn slammed the flat of his hand against the window, the glass rattling under the impact. When next he spoke, his voice had dropped to a dangerous growl. _“What were you doing on the God damn ledge?”_

Liam looked down at the phone, pressing the recall button to bring up the image. While it was obviously him in the picture, and he recognized the clothes, _he didn’t remember any of it._

“This was taken the other night, when the lads came to town.” Liam said confusedly, his voice low, while his mind scrambled to recall how the fuck he’d ended up on the ledge outside his flat. And on top of that, _why_ there were pictures of it on twitter.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. That was pretty easy to figure out, considering one of your ‘friends’ posted the picture,” Zayn snarled. “You still haven’t answered my question. _Why were you on the ledge?”_

“I don’t remember . . .” Liam’s voice trailed off when Zayn whirled on him.

“How the fuck can you not remember standing on a building ledge 30 some stories off the fucking ground? Explain to me HOW do you forget something like that?” Zayn grabbed Liam’s shoulders and shook him. “Do you have some kind of twisted death wish? Or has all that talk about being Batman really gone to your fucking head?”

“Zee, I – What? No, of course not!” Liam exclaimed, his body tensing. “We had a lot to drink, and I . . .”

“A lot to drink. Of course. I should have fucking known.” Zayn released Liam and stepped back, hands dropping to his side, fists clenching to still the anxious tremors wracking through him. His voice broke, defeat in every syllable. “I can’t do this, not right now.”

Snatching back his phone and pausing only long enough to grab his wallet off the dresser, Zayn walked out of their bedroom. Liam staggered out behind him, tugging on a pair of joggers against the chill in the house.

“Where are you going?” Liam challenged, positioning himself between Zayn and the front door. He looked on helplessly whilst Zayn dragged his leather jacket out of the cupboard; shoved his feet into his black, battered Doc Martens. When no answer was forthcoming, Liam shifted his weight, bouncing on the balls of his feet, anxiety setting every synapse in his body to firing on all cylinders. Liam prodded, “Zee? Zayn? C’mon babe, don’t leave. Talk to me.”

“I can’t. I need to get out of here: I need to think.” Zayn lifted his head to meet Liam’s panicked gaze. The morning sun pouring through the windows glinted off the tears building in the corners of Zayn’s eyes, tears that threatened to spill over any second. “Just, please, Li . . . Let me go.” Zayn’s anguished voice broke at the end, and Liam froze, giving Zayn time to push around him. The door clicked shut behind him, and Liam sank to the floor, the vice around his heart constricting until he couldn’t breathe.

 

#  **∞∞∞**

 

Liam wasn’t sure how long he sat on the floor with his head buried in his hands, his breathing laboured while he fought off the urge to scream. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks, falling in thick, hot drops against his bare chest. Even the frigid cold of the foyer wasn’t enough to spur him to vacate his post in front of the door. It wasn’t until he heard his phone buzzing from the other room that he moved, and then it was at a full blown run to catch the call before whomever it was hung up. Diving across the bed, he grabbed the phone off the bedside table and turned it on, not bothering to look at the screen.

“Zee?” He gasped, praying his boyfriend was on the other end.

 _“Not even close, love.”_ Louis’ voice carried out of the receiver. _“Mind explaining why you’ve taken up freefalling from your balcony? Hazza saw the pic when he got back from his run. Being woken up by my panicked boyfriend while fighting off transcontinental jet lag was not at all how I planned to start my day.”_

“I swear, Lou, it’s not what it looks like. . . I think.” Liam slumped to the floor, his free hand tangling in his hair.

_“What do you mean, ‘you think?’ Who else would know why you’re playing Batman?”_

The joking didn’t temper the simmering anger Liam heard tinging Louis’ words. He wasn’t surprised that Louis had been the one calling to rip into him, and not Niall or Harry. During the three years since they’d become friends and bandmates, certain duties had naturally fallen to certain members, and Louis was, in deed if not name, their leader. He dealt out the reprimands when they were needed, mostly because he was the one who also dealt with management’s rants when any of them fucked up. While most of the screaming was directed at Louis and Harry, Liam and Zayn had been called on the carpet more than a few times in the last year, especially during tour. Liam counted it a blessing that Paul or Marco hadn’t shown up yet, banging on the door and demanding an explanation. He knew it would only be a matter of time, though, before the suits were going to expect an accounting.

“I don’t remember what happened. I was out with Tom and Wilksy and the lot, and I s’pose I got right pissed.” Liam drew in a ragged breath. “Look, Louis, I know I fucked up, I get it. But right now I have to find Zayn. Have you heard from him?”

 _“Li, when are you going to realize . . . .” _ Louis paused, obviously rethinking whatever he’d planned to say. _“ Nah, I haven’t heard from him, not a peep. And I’m guessing if you don’t know where he is, you’ve either had a row, or you’re waiting to get your arse reamed for being a dipshit.”_

“He’s furious. Doni called freaking out; told him ‘bout it. He stormed out, didn’t even give me a chance to talk.”

_“Well, what’d you expect him to do, throw a fucking parade to celebrate your stupidity?”_

“No, but,” Liam paused to clear the tight lump in his throat, “I have to find him, Lou. Just, like . . . Can you try calling him? You know how he gets sometimes, and he was angrier than when he broke his hand.”

 _“By no means are we done talking about this, Payno.” _Louis’ voice carried the threat of the arse reaming he’d already mentioned, and Liam couldn’t even blame him. He knew he deserved it, but – later.

“Yeah, I know we’re not. Just . . . Please, Lou?” Liam pled, not even caring how desperate he sounded. Zayn had been on a slow burn for months, what with the way management had been manipulating the fuck out of all of them. Liam had known it would only be a matter of time before Zayn erupted. _Why had he been so stupid?_

_“I’ll give him a call; see if I can send him home. We’ll deal with the rest once I’ve had some tea and figured out the damage.”_

Liam thanked the older boy, then disconnected the call. He traced his finger across the picture on his lock screen, remembering when he’d taken it, just a couple weeks earlier. Zayn had been laughing at something Liam’s mum had said, his eyes squinted with the force of a broad, genuine smile, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. He’d been so happy, so carefree, that day, something neither of them had felt much lately.

Flicking his thumb across the unlock slide, Liam moved to his text screen to tap out a message.

 

**Babe plz come home**

 

He hesitated for a moment, pushed send, and waited. The seconds ticked off, growing to a minute, then two. The twitter notifications continued to pile up, likely from fans demanding an explanation or castigating him for disappointing them again - no different than any other day. He’d missed several texts and calls from his mum and Ruth, and though he knew he owed them an explanation, he didn’t have one to give. An apology from Tom, and a promise to take the picture down. _Too fucking late for that, bro, the damage is_ _done_. Liam didn’t bother to reply to it, either.

Five minutes and still . . . Nothing.

He tucked his hands under his arms, resisting the urge to scroll the notifications. He knew full well and good that nothing good could come of it, knew that nameless strangers had more power to bother him than they should. The phone rested on his legs, while he continued to stare transfixed at the screen. The only alert he wanted to see remained silent, a mute beacon of dead air that hurt more than anything anyone could ever say, cut deeper than any judgement ever had.

When half an hour had passed, and Zayn still hadn’t responded, Liam growled in frustration, then threw the phone onto the bed. While he knew Zayn had every right to be pissed off, and Liam knew he coped by walking away to gather his thoughts, it didn’t make waiting him out any easier. His fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on his leg, his breathing ragged as it fought for purchase against the vice grip that had been clamped around his chest from the moment the door had shut behind Zayn.

His mind raced and his body buzzed. Anxiety and stress coursed through him. Erratic scenarios were conjured out of thin air, each one more gut-wrenching than the one before, all of them ending in heartache. The need to be doing _something_ clawed at him like a wild animal desperate to be released.

“Fuck this shit,” Liam muttered.

Pushing himself up off the floor, he scrabbled through the bed sheets to find his phone. He wouldn’t risk leaving it behind, just in case . . . Setting it to ring only for Zayn’s number; Liam shoved the offending device into his pocket. Impotent against the rising panic, Liam struggled to centre his thoughts. Slowly, steadily, he regulated his breathing, the anxiousness replaced with rage. Blinding rage, a screaming storm of fury at himself and his life, a red veil that dropped around his emotions, shrouding everything in intemperate anger, demanding an outlet before it swallowed him, blazed through him with the knowledge that he had no control to change situations that were spiralling everything out of his control.

Liam had never learned how to shut his brain down, but he knew how to stifle it, how to burn out the rage that simmered in his veins. Pausing in the kitchen long enough to grab two bottles of water, he made his way to the small gym in the basement. Zayn had allowed Mark to talk him into it, once Mark realised getting Zayn into the gym off tour would take a miracle. All the essentials were there - speed bags, heavy bags, kickboxing dummies, skipping ropes, gloves, shields. Liam probably used the equipment even more than Zayn did, and two of the bags had been replaced in the last six months. Which, given the lack of time they’d had at home, and the amount of anger they’d both been channeling lately, didn’t say much for either of their state of minds.

Liam set the water on a small table and dropped his iPhone in the dock, before snatching up the discarded athletic tape. _Berzerk_ flooded the room, pumped out of surround sound speakers that hung in every corner. He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, the pounding bass curling around him, while his shaking hands fumbled with wrapping his knuckles. Flexing his fingers, he made a few fists, punching into the palms of his hands to check the flexibility - too much tape, and he wouldn’t be able to bend them, too little and he’d likely split the skin open. Not that he cared. He welcomed the pain, a tangible reminder that he was real, that he did exist outside the illusion his life had turned into.

Whirling, Liam landed a roundhouse into the freestanding bag, the satisfaction of a clean kick disappearing under the need for more, the need to lash out at anything that could take it. Squaring off in between the bags, he unleashed the seething wrath pulsating deep within him. Time melted away under combinations of punches and kicks, his frenzy fuelled by the doubts that ate away at his confidence whenever he let his guard down.

_ outcast _

_loser _

_ failure _

The slurs from his childhood had been pounded deep into his psyche, the mental blows that pummeled his self-confidence cycling in sync with each hit that connected with the weighted bag suspended in front of him. The track list on his iPhone played through, a mix of savage rock and bitter rap adding to the mounting tension that Liam couldn’t escape, no matter how viciously he fought. Sweat dripped into his eyes, mingling with the unchecked tears that slid down his cheeks.

Liam’s breath escaped in shredded gasps, each one cut off on the sobs that accompanied them. The tape cut into his fingers, pulling taut against the bloodied skin of his knuckles that had given way under the punishing assault he’d unleashed on the training bags. His shoulders tightened with each blow, the searing pain ignored in favour of another swing, another hit, another kick. And still he fought on, battling the iniquitous demons that haunted his mind, the ones that no amount of fame could dispel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks flying fruit* 
> 
> Yeah, I know . . . but I did warn you. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at www.laynefaire.tumblr.com if you want to yell at me, ask questions, or find out what songs are needed for my mind to go down these dark and angsty paths.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this Friday, but courtesy of the fuckery in the 1D fandom, some real life stuff, and feeling the need to rewrite an entire section - that didn't happen. 
> 
> Ah well - the best laid plans . . .
> 
> because I didn't want you to wait any longer, this hasn't been beta'd or Brit-picked, only pre-read by a couple of lovely ladies who, for some unfathomable reason, adore me and were willing to help on short notice. All my love and devotion to Joy and Lynn for their quick reads!

Watered-down golden rays played hide and seek in the thick billowy grey veil that hung overhead. The meager display of sun offered little warmth to dispel the damp chill seeping into Zayn’s bones through his leather jacket. He paused on the steps to zip it up, contemplating where to go, but knowing he needed time, needed to sort his thoughts. The neighborhood stirred around him, the faint sounds of the passing cars drifting over the six foot high stone wall surrounding his home. A dog barked in the distance, setting off a chorus of yelps, Harley joining in from the back garden. The cacophony settled Zayn on a course of action.

Releasing the sharp whistle he’d trained Harley to respond to, Zayn stepped off the brick flagstones, the shimmering icy dew on the grass dampening the hem of his joggers when he crossed to the small garden shed. Retrieving Harley’s lead, he whistled again. The bow-legged, bull-chested pup skidded to a stop at his feet, tongue lolling from his mouth while he stared adoringly at his master. Zayn suppressed a laugh, though the endearing sight brought on a welling surge of affection. He knelt down, nuzzling his face into the comforting warmth of the pup’s broad shoulder, before clipping the lead to his collar. With a gentle tug, Harley fell in next to him, and Zayn exited the gate, setting off on a meandering ramble to sort himself out.

Harley had been Zayn’s personal souvenir from the tour. He’d purchased the puppy not long before Liam’s birthday, and Harley had quickly become “their” pet – another link between them that management had no control over. They’d needed it.

Zayn’s reasoning behind acquiring Harley might not have been the best, but it didn’t make him any less loved. He’d wanted a pet that reflected who he was, not a PR stunt dreamt up by their useless management team. He liked animals in general, he truly did. However, the yapping furball and snooty cat that management and PR had deemed appropriate were the furthest thing from what he’d consider in a pet. The notion of him and Perrie adopting the two animals to prove their “commitment to each other” easily rivaled the fucked up farce of Louis and Eleanor as the most ridiculous stunt to date. It also solidified how management’s vision focused solely on Perrie and Little Mix’s interests, not Zayn or One Direction. But to be honest, they hadn’t seen him and the lads as anything more than a lucrative meal ticket in a long time –a necessary evil to ensure management’s long term financial gain – so really, he shouldn’t have expected any different. And therein laid the crux of the problem.

The US leg of the tour had been rough on Liam and Zayn. Even though they’d both agreed to it, the tattoo had put a strain on their relationship. Added to that, management – under the direction of Harry Magee – had pushed Liam into a full-blown ‘relationship’ with Sophia, a girl from Liam’s hometown. They’d insisted on a back-up plan when Liam negotiated an end to Danielle’s contract, but none of the lads had thought it would ever go the distance. Once again, they’d foolishly underestimated the powers that be.

While Sophia had proven to be harmless, only around when management absolutely insisted, it had added another layer of stress to an already tense situation. The engagement though . . . Simon Jones sprung that bombshell on them the day before the movie premiere. Little Mix’s singles weren’t selling well; they needed a PR boost. To say neither group had been happy with it would be an understatement. The press may not have noticed the tension, but the fans certainly had – even more so when the boys were blindsided with a ‘confirmation’ by Perrie’s mum at their first interview the next day. The dissension had only mounted since then, each new article or interview that brought up the engagement another knife to the heart, especially for Liam.

Pulling himself from his reverie, Zayn loosened Harley’s lead, then stopped to light a cigarette. The sharp, acrid scent of burning tobacco quickly dissipated in the lingering mist from the early morning storm. Traffic had begun to pick up, the water on the roads spraying up from under the moving tires. Rather than risk being recognized, Zayn tugged his beanie on, adding the aviators tucked inside his breast pocket. He loved the fans, he really did, but the last thing he felt like doing was acting polite and cheerful for pictures. Dropping his chin, Zayn hunched deeper into the warmth of his jacket. He tightened the slack out of Harley’s lead and set off for the small park at the center of the neighborhood.

Ambling along the narrow jogging path, Zayn laughed at the puppy gamboling after the stray ducks that still gathered on the shore of the lake. When his lead would pull taut, dropping him to his haunches, Harley would look back at Zayn, his eyes full of reproach at being stopped. Zayn held the pup in check until they reached the dog park, blissfully empty at midday. Once he’d secured the gate, Zayn whistled Harley closer, kneeling to release the lead and allow him to run free. The puppy raced away, chasing down the birds foolish enough to alight within the enclosure, their agitated caws filling the air in syncopated harmony with Harley’s delighted barks.

Clusters of benches dotted the periphery of the park, bathed in the weak winter sun. Sinking languidly onto one, Zayn slouched down, letting his head fall to rest against the wrought iron back. After another check on Harley, he closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to wander, seeking out the gossamer threads that flitted through his subconscious, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening with Liam.

Liam wasn’t ignorant, much as many people liked to peg him as such. That, along with his designated reputation as the “sensible one”, resulted in him being sadly misjudged. Mostly, Liam was naïve, completely lacking in street smarts. It made him vulnerable and easily manipulated, especially by people he should have been able to trust. Unfortunately, a lot of the people he’d grown up with knew that, and didn’t hesitate to capitalize on Liam’s good nature. It infuriated Zayn, even more so when circumstances like the past week happened.

The “friends” who had materialized after the band’s success were the same people Liam had been desperate to fit in with years earlier. At best, they might’ve been acquaintances prior to his audition. Zayn tolerated them, because Liam craved those connections to home, but everything in him wanted to lash out at the hangers-on, to protect Liam from their machinations. By tacit agreement, Liam’s friends didn’t know about them being together, believing, like most of the world, that Zayn and Liam were simply best mates. On some level, Liam understood they couldn’t be trusted – not like they could trust Andy, or Danny and Ant. Yet whenever they were around, Liam became reckless – drinking too much, taking crazy risks – almost daring the fates to stop him. The ledge, though – that had taken it too far.

On a certain level, Zayn understood Liam’s daredevil antics. The bungee jumping, the surfing, even his expressed interest in driving the NASCAR test track that didn’t pan out – Zayn knew they were all a result of Liam having been so sick as a kid. Karen had been justifiably over-protective for a long time, so Liam breaking out a bit, once he was free to do so (and had found a willing partner in crime in Louis), made sense. It didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking for those sitting on the sidelines watching, though. But this was on a whole other plateau of fucked up.

They all did stupid shit. Their lives had become an adrenaline rush. They lived at full throttle, and if they didn’t let it out, it would eat them alive from the inside to escape. To be honest, Harry and Niall were probably the two with the least destructive outlets for handling their fame. It probably helped that their most intimate circle of friends weren’t as crazy as Zayn, Louis, and Liam’s could be. It still didn’t give Liam’s so-called friends the right to post Liam’s daredevil stunts to Twitter – not when it was guaranteed to set off a shit storm.

Zayn and Louis’ friends understood the ramifications; knew that some shit needed to be kept to themselves.

Liam’s clique, though.

They thrived on Liam’s celebrity status, exploiting it for their own gain at every turn. His fists clenched on his thighs, rage coursing through him once again over Liam’s recklessness. Fighting the urge to punch down into the solid surface under his ass, he dug his cigarettes out instead. With a quick flick of his finger he struck the match, his eyes narrowing on the wavering flame licking the tip of the cigarette to life. He let it burn, not dropping it until the heat reached the calloused pads of his fingers.

A gust of wind swept across the field, the bare branches clattering in its wake, Harley hastening off in pursuit of the skittering leaves tumbling across the scraggly grass. Zayn exhaled, cigarette smoke mingling with the chilled breath leaving him. A muted vibration rumbled against his hip, followed by the Team Rocket theme song. He dug out his phone and flipped it on without looking at the screen, knowing who would be on the other end.

“Little early in LA, innit?” Zayn answered, not bothering to say hello.

 _“Good morning to you too, you arse, and yes its hella early.”_ Zayn stifled a wry chuckle, letting Louis continue without interrupting him _. “I should be shagging my very sweaty boyfriend, and instead I’m running interference for yours. There is so much wrong with this scenario.”_

“Whatya mean running interference? Did management call you already?”

 _“Not yet, bro, just a text telling me I’d be hearing from them later. We’re all gonna get pulled in on this one, I’m sure_ ,” Louis groused. _“This isn’t good Zee, you know that, right?”_

Zayn bit his lip, holding off the sarcastic retort that hovered on his tongue, opting instead to state the obvious. “He’s a grown man, Lou, I can’t tell him what to do.”

_“I don’t expect you to, but he needs to get his shit together. You know the press is just waiting for one of us to fuck up, for the band to implode. Even without the tripe Jones is shilling out to the rag sheets, they’re having no problems spinning every little thing into a scandal.”_

Exasperation filled Zayn, spilling out in his voice. “And all this friendly advice is coming from where, exactly?”

_“C’mon Zee, it’s not like that, and you know it. Liam’s more important than the band. We all are. Band of brothers, innit? But we’ve got obligations, too. There’s a lot riding on the tour; we’ll all be set for life after this. We can’t do it without all of us, ya know? We’re worried.”_

“Who’s _we_ , Lou?” Zayn exhaled the smoke pressing against his lungs, flicking away the exhausted butt he still held clenched in his fingers. “You and Harry? Magee and Grifffiths?” He took a shuddering breath, derision flooding him. “The fans?”

 _‘The lads, Zee. Your friends. Remember us? The guys that are right there with you?”_ Louis snapped, annoyance in every word. _“Magee can go fuck himself for all I care, but I need Liam to be okay. We can’t let the bastards win, mate; can’t let them break us.”_

Zayn cringed at Louis’ vehemence, his breath whistling between his clenched teeth, a long silence falling across the international call.

Louis hated Harry Magee with a passion. Whereas Griffiths at least listened to them once in a while, Magee didn’t give a shit about anything but profits. Every bullshit piece of merchandise that bore their image had been his brainchild, his contribution to creating the “1D Brand.” Magee had been the one to put the lock on Louis and Harry, the one who raised the walls on their glass closet. Louis would never forgive him for that, for what he had put them through in the name of profit; and honestly, Zayn didn’t blame him.

Griffiths had been far more lenient when Modest found out about Zayn and Liam, relying on the PR stunts, without resorting to the separation and hostility that Magee had put Harry and Louis through. It was just one more thing added to the list of reasons that drove all of them to want to be more than “just a boyband”, and prove to Magee that he’d underestimated not only them, but their fans, too.

_“You still there, mate?”_

“Yeah,” Zayn rasped, clearing his throat before continuing, “Yeah ‘m here.”

 _“Okay, good. I’ll be back by the weekend. Got a Rovers thing, yeah? But this isn’t likely to hold until then.”_ Zayn offered a noncommittal hum, his spine stiffening when Louis’ voice softened. _“I talked to Li_.”

Ah yes, there it was. Louis slipping into hen mode, mothering his wayward chicks. Zayn heaved a sigh, not sure what Louis expected him to say, but knew the lecture was coming.

“Mmhhmm,” Zayn murmured, pulled back to his surroundings when he felt a pawing at his knee. Harley sat on his haunches, front paw pushing against Zayn for his attention. Scratching behind the pup’s ear, he answered again. “Yeah?”

_“Go home, Zee. You both do this shit. You just shut down whenever there’s a problem. Try shouting at each other for a change; clear the air.”_

Zayn snorted. “Does that work for you and Haz?”

_“Nah, not usually. But the angry make-up shag does.”_

Harry’s annoyed _“Heeeeeeeeeeeey”_ echoed in the background, and Zayn chuckled in response. God he loved these four boys. They were his family, in a way no one on the outside would ever understand. He heard a brief scuffle followed by Harry’s raspy baritone.

_“Zayn?”_

Harry’s calm settled over Zayn like an old familiar quilt with that single syllable. The younger boy had this amazing energy, an aura of peace in even the most trying of circumstances. It was so Zen, you’d think he was stoned out of his mind all the time, when in reality he simply had an incredible sense of self. Out of them all, Harry was the one who had all his shit together, and still knew where he’d left the bag. He also had a wicked streak a mile long, and could spout some of the filthiest things Zayn had ever heard outside of porn – stuff that could make even Louis blush. Despite that, and management’s heavy-handed PR stunts, Harry was still the gentlest soul he’d ever met, and they were all fiercely protective of him. They also all listened when he spoke, knowing that the slow drawling speech and cheeky smile shrouded an underrated intelligence.

“Hey Hazza. How’s California?” Zayn deflected, knowing, before he opened his mouth, it’d be a futile effort.

 _“Same as always – full of fake tans and faker people.”_ Louis’ sarcastic laughter reverberated in the background, but Harry’s tone remained even. _“Let’s not replay last summer, mate; you two are way past that.”_

“We aren’t like you and Lou, Haz.”

_“And no one’s asking you to be. But if this passive/aggressive push and pull thing you two do is exhausting to watch from the sidelines, it’s definitely not good for the two of you emotionally or mentally. Go home and fix it.”_

Zayn shuffled his feet, the toe of his boot nudging a small branch shaken loose from the trees overhead. Stalling for time, he bent over to pick it up, waving it under Harley’s nose to get his attention. With a strong flick of his wrist, the stick flew across the deserted park, the excited puppy tearing off in frantic pursuit after it.

 _“I know you’re still there. I can hear you thinking,”_ Harry chided.

“I’m not the one who broke anything, Harry. Why do I have to be the one to fix it?”

_“And it takes two to make a quarrel. Just go home, Zayn. You love each other too much to be doing this stupid shit.”_

“You and Lou really are assholes, you know that, right?’” Zayn shoved his hand under his beanie, calloused fingers scratching across his scalp; a heavy sigh escaping him. “How did you two get this shit right?”

 _“It takes work – a lot of work. But when it’s right, it’s worth it. What you two have - its_ _worth it. So . . . go home. Work it out._ ” Harry paused, and Zayn could hear low muttering in the background, then what sounded like a kiss, before Harry continued. “ _Louis said he’ll give you a call if we hear anything else. And Zayn?”_

“Yeah, Haz?”

 _“We love you – both of you,”_ Harry added. _“We’ll talk to you later.”_

“Love you too, Haz.”  


Zayn disconnected the call, then set the phone on his thigh. He tossed the stick for Harley again, ignoring the rampant buzzing of incoming messages. Even without looking, he could almost guarantee what he’d find – texts from his mum and sisters, as well as Karen, and probably his aunt and cousins, a rant or two from Ant and/or Danny, something from Andy wanting to know Liam was okay. Not to mention a couple thousand twitter notifications from fans demanding an explanation – especially from those who suspected the truth about their relationship. At times it was all so exhausting.

While Zayn wasn’t thrilled over Liam being on the ledge, especially knowing he had been pissed off his legs, he tried really hard not to overreact when shit like that happened. Was he worried? Of fucking course he was, but forbidding Liam to do something wasn’t how they worked. He had to trust Liam to realize he needed boundaries, and also trust that he recognized when to step back from them when he drifted to close. At times, Zayn wondered if he should overreact more, but their relationship was difficult enough with all the bullshit management already piled on them. Turning into a raging shrew would only make things so much more stressful than it had to be.

 _Now, though . . ._ . . .

Zayn exasperatedly shook his head. There would be major repercussions with management over the picture. According to Doni, the fans were losing their minds on twitter. It would only be a matter of time before the press spun it as the band becoming impulsive assholes, that their fame had gone to their heads. Bieber’s recent meltdowns would just help add fuel to the raging fire of young stars who received too much fame too soon. Management’s shady-ass PR deal with Funky Buddha ensuring Liam being papped there all the time would only incite the media speculation about his drinking. Yeah . . . Liam wasn’t getting out of this stunt unscathed. No matter how upset he was, Zayn knew he had to tamp it down – for Liam’s sake, even if not for his own. Liam would need him to get through whatever sanctions management doled out in response. The anger, though, that was still simmering.

Whistling for Harley, whose pursuit of the stick had been interrupted by a squirrel foraging under a pile of leaves, Zayn shoved himself up off the bench. After refastening the dog lead, he exited the park and began the slow trek back home. The phone continued to buzz in his pocket, messages and notifications continuing to roll in. Zayn knew he would have to address the buildup eventually, but could ignore them for the time being. He’d talked to Doniya, which meant his mum and Karen were dealt with temporarily. Without knowing management’s game plan, he wouldn’t have any of the answers they’d want anyway. If there was anything important, whoever it was could outright call and the override would kick in that would allow it to ring through. Until then, he planned to avoid the unpleasantness. Or so he thought.

The buzzing in his pocket stopped, replaced by Darth Vader’s Imperial March. _Fuck!_ For half of a second, Zayn considered pressing ignore, but that would only delay the inevitable. With another muttered curse, he dragged out the phone and answered it, dread already settling low in the pit of his stomach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God willing and the creek don't rise, the next part will be up on Friday/Saturday. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at www.laynefaire.tumblr.com if you want to yell at me, ask questions, or find out what songs are needed for my mind to go down these dark and angsty paths.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know - I am the world's shittiest updater. If you still came back to read after all this time, you have my eternal gratitude. 
> 
> Feel free to thank [lululawrence](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/), [conscious-ramblings](http://conscious--ramblings.tumblr.com/), and [ellemem](http://ellemem.tumblr.com/) for this if you enjoy it. Without them pushing me behind the scenes, this would likely have never happened. If you absolutely hate it, then its all on me, and sorry for disappointing you again. 
> 
> There is likely only one chapter left after this, and its more than half done. My goal is to post it within two weeks. Count on the ladies named above to do everything in their powers to make sure it happens.

"What do you want Simon?" Zayn answered, not bothering to disguise the thinly veiled contempt in his voice.

_"Since you're apparently screening your text messages, I had no option but to call."_ Simon Jones' amplified, smarmy, nasal whine echoed through the phone, obviously on speaker.

The man’s very existence set Zayn on edge. Being forced to deal with him almost exclusively in conjunction with his PR duties for Little Mix had only added to the antagonism and animosity between them. After a particularly scathing, though ineffective, conversation shortly before the engagement, Jones had begun using speaker in hopes of curtailing Zayn’s venom. It had only served to up the ante, as all the boys took advantage of it to loudly vent their spleens over the bullshit games PR and management played with their personal lives and images. The secretaries at HackfordJones likely had enough source material to compile one hell of a tell-all when their NDAs expired.

_“Please be advised Mr. Griffiths is also on the call. He’s a very busy man, and handling this ‘situation’ is highly inconvenient on a Sunday. I’m sure you understand.”_ Jones’ droning intonation did little to hide the glee he took in being an arrogant prick. _“Unfortunately, your spokesperson, Mr. Tomlinson, is in LA. Which, given the time difference, addressing anything through him is a bit .  . .  inconvenient.”_

Zayn didn’t bother informing the leech that he’d already spoken to Louis. Let him figure it out for himself. Given Jones’ next words, the bastard was fucking lucky Zayn didn’t serve him his bollocks on a plate with a side of spicy curry.

_“Your '_ friend' _Liam is not answering his phone, and we need to discuss the recent events that have come to light. Be a good lad and let us speak to him, please."_

The disparagement wasn’t lost on Zayn, nor was the irony that Jones would dare be snide about someone else’s relationship, given whose ass he was currently plowing.

"My _fiancé_ isn't with me; I'm walking the dog. You’re going to have to wait for Liam to contact you, and discuss the situation with him directly. I have nothing to say on the matter,” Zayn ground out, his teeth clenched to refrain from a profanity-laden tirade in the middle of the street. It’d only add to the controversy if anyone overheard and went to the press. And to be honest, Simon Jones wasn’t worth the time or effort.

_“Now Zayn, all this hostility isn’t really necessary, is it, son?”_  Richard Griffiths’ cultured voice cut in, short-circuiting the tirade building inside Zayn.

“Mr. Griffiths, sir, with all due respect, I _have_ a father, one who accepts and loves me for who I am. I’d prefer you did _not_ refer to me as ‘son’. I’m sure you understand.”

Interjecting before Griffiths could respond to Zayn’s obvious disdain, Jones pressed on. " _Look Zayn, we really don’t have time for this tête-à-tête. Liam fucked up, and the press wants answers.”_

You mean your _‘friend’_ Dan wants an exclusive, don’t you?” Zayn lashed out, throwing Jones’ own euphemism back in his face. An elderly gentleman walking past looked up in shock at the vehement anger present in Zayn’s outburst. Castigating himself for rising to Jones’ bait, Zayn lowered his voice, venom still lacing his tone. “Look, cut to the chase, Simon. It’s getting really damn tiresome being jerked around like a marionette, and I have much more entertaining things I could be doing instead of talking to you – like cleaning up the pile of dog shit Harley just left on the sidewalk.”

The sound of something being dropped, accompanied by a muffled oath, was quickly followed by a click and Jones’ voice no longer on speaker.

_“Look here you entitled little shit; I’ve no time for you or your insults.”_

_“Now, now – Simon, Zayn,”_ Griffith interrupted. _“None of this is necessary, is it? I think we can all agree that the picture being released was unfortunate. However, given the trends that Sonja is tracking on social media, we may be able to spin this to everyone’s advantage.”_

Whaddya mean – ‘spin’?” Zayn asked. “Liam went out with friends last week, made an error in judgement, and now Simon wants his pound of media mileage for it. There’s nothing to spin. I wasn’t even in England when it happened.”

_“I beg to differ, son . . . uhhhmm . . . Zayn.”_ Griffiths stumbled over the correction, before continuing, _“Your attempts at subterfuge last night were questionable, at best. There’s entirely too much speculation on Twitter surrounding Liam’s  whereabouts in connection with your family’s birthday celebration. Given the number of pictures your aunt and cousins are posting, it’s obvious his attendance involved much more than a casual drop in.. While it’s too late to slam the barn door, we need to stop the stampede before it gets any worse. I’m sure you understand.”_

“No, actually, I don’t understand. But hey, when has that ever stopped any of you from pressing forward with your agenda?” Zayn sighed. “Just . . . tell me what you want, and let me go. This was not how I intended to spend my birthday.”

_“If you don’t mind, I’ll let Simon explain. I have a prior engagement, and this distasteful nonsense has made me late. Enjoy the rest of your day, Zayn. We’ll see you soon, yes?”_

Griffiths didn’t bother waiting for a reply. The discordant click of him disconnecting his portion of the call reverberated through the line, the low hum that had accompanied it quickly fading away. Zayn steeled his nerves, knowing that any remaining civility to the conversation had ended the minute Griffiths hung up.

_You still there?”_ Jones snapped.

Zayn rolled his eyes, almost hating that he’d been right about the return to open animosity. “Yeah, I’m here.”

_Alright then, this is how it’s going to go down. There will be a response tweeted from Liam’s account in conjunction with a press release in The Sun tomorrow evening. He is not, in any way, to refute the tweets, delete them, or respond to fan messages. This is non-negotiable. Liam is already on thin ice with his twitter account. We’d hate to have to further limit his access.”_

Zayn bristled at the unspoken threat. Liam enjoyed interacting with the fans on Twitter – it was something he’d done even before One Direction existed. He’d be devastated to lose that connection, no matter how tenuous it tended to be. Zayn knew exactly what Jones was implying – if Liam wouldn’t behave, they had ways to force his compliance. Fucking amazing. They were grown adults being treated like petulant children. It’s a wonder one of them hadn’t done anything worse than stand on a ledge in revolt.

_“Am I clear?”_

"Crystal – like Baccarat. You do know what Baccarat is, right?” Zayn sneered. “Have you pirated enough blunt from manipulating our image to visit that section of Harrods’ yet?"

_“You insolent . . .”_ Simon bit off whatever insult he’d been planning, “ _You know, someday, you and your band of miscreants will recognize that I’ve merely been trying to help, and you’ll thank me.”_ The whine was back, along with the patronizing load of bullshit Jones spewed whenever one of them pushed against the narratives that had been constructed around them.

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for a fruit basket,” Zayn snapped back. “We all know there’s nothing altruistic about your motives, no matter what lies you tell to help yourself sleep at night. I’ll be sure to give Liam your message.” Zayn ended the call before Jones could continue his pejorative spiel.

_Fuck! Could this day get any worse?_ Zayn thought to himself, his jangled nerves frayed to the breaking point. _Fucking wonderful. Happy fucking birthday to me._

Whatever modicum of calm in the storm that Zayn had found at the park was lost, the sliver of peace eradicated by Jones’ arrogance and contempt. Irritated at himself for letting the management stooge get to him, Zayn snapped at Harley to heel. The puppy rushed to comply, his eyes large and frightened at the harsh vehemence in his tone. Zayn mentally berated himself for taking out his ire on a helpless animal. Tears pricked at the corners of his tired eyes, his slight shoulders slumped under the weight of everything raining down on him.

When had this become his life?

Twenty, no scratch that, twenty-one years old, a member of the biggest band in the world, and all he wanted was to crawl into his mother’s lap like a child while she made all the bad things go away. He suddenly needed to hear her voice, needed her to tell him everything would be okay – even if they both knew it would be a lie.

Re-entering his property through the wrought iron gate, Zayn fumbled with his phone, pressing the speed dial number that would connect him to the one person he could always turn to. Stumbling into the shed, Zayn knelt down to unhook Harley’s lead, then wrapped his arm around the puppy’s neck, pulling him closer while Zayn waited for the call to connect. Whether to reassure himself or the animal, Zayn didn’t know. He just needed to feel some warmth, to feel something solid in his hands when it seemed like the world was slipping through his fingers.

The ringing stopped, lively chatter echoed in the background, and his mother’s familiar voice filled his ears.

“Mum.” And with that, Zayn cracked; heaving sobs racking his chest, his breath leaving him in anguished stutters.

_“Oh, sunshine,”_ Trisha Malik soothed. _“It’s alright, love. It’s all going to be fine. That’s it. Go ahead and get it all out, then we’ll talk.”_

Zayn gave up trying to talk, instead letting all his pent-up emotions pour out of him; Tears streaked down his face, shoulders shaking under the heavy sobs. The whimpering puppy pushed closer, knocking Zayn to a seated position and clambering into his lap in his own version of comfort. Harley nuzzled Zayn’s face, rough tongue chasing the tears, while the familiar sounds and soothing peace his mother offered through the phone lines lifted some of the burden he’d tried to shoulder alone for far too long.

**∞∞∞**

Trisha let Zayn cry, offering only soothing noises whilst her heart broke at her son’s anguish. Though she still firmly believed that dragging him to the audition had been the best opportunity she’d ever be able to give him, she often wondered if the long term emotional cost had been worth the short term gain. Looking up to fight back the tears that filled her own eyes, she glimpsed the picture collage Karen had given her just a few weeks earlier.

 

_“Our Boys”_ the center caption read, surrounded by pictures – on stage, backstage, at home, on vacation, in interviews – so many pictures, but all with one constant. In every one of them, just like they’d been from the beginning, Zayn and Liam stood together. Leaning into each other; supporting each other. Always.

_Right next to you, Liam_.

 

Her son had said it once in an interview, and lived it every day since.

Through the phone line, Trisha heard the sobs subsiding, the heaving gasps when Zayn struggled to pull himself together. His voice was heavy, the cloying effect of his breakdown thick in his throat when he finally spoke.

“Sorry, Mum.”  

_“Hush with that. Sorry for what? For being human? For having a heart? I’ll take the tears over an emotionless robot any day, thank you very much.”_ Trisha cleared her throat. _“Now, want to tell me what happened? I mean, besides the obvious – since that was plastered for the world to see. You were both so happy last night. I can’t imagine that much has changed overnight.”_

“I don’t know what to do anymore. He’s out of control, Mum. And those friends of his . . . those fucking sycophants that Modest dredged up with _her_. . . They bring out the absolute worst in him.”

_“And you’ve told him this? That these friends make you wary?”_

“He knows I don’t care for them.”

_“That’s not what I asked you, sunshine. There’s a difference between knowing something, and hearing it for fact. Have you ever, unequivocally, told Liam how you feel about it all? The friends, the drinking, all the time he spends out?”_

“It makes him happy, Mum. I don’t want to take that away from him.”

_“It’s not about taking anything away, love, it’s about finding balance between the two of you. Face it, what you’ve been doing isn’t working, to be honest hasn’t worked in a long time.” Trish paused, clearing her throat. “And I think you know it doesn’t work. What you need to figure out is why you’re afraid to change.”_

“Why do I have to change?” Zayn couldn’t stifle the hint of whining that crept into his voice, and Trish chuckled in response.

_“You sound like Saffaa with her maths homework. ‘I can’t do it, It’s too hard. Why do I have to do all this work?’ It’s just as simple for you as it for her – You get out of life exactly what you put into it. If you aren’t willing to do the work, you can’t expect whinging about it to make a difference. What do you want?”_

Zayn’s thoughts flashed back to his conversation with Harry and Louis, and everything they’d been through. Underpinning all of that, though, was one constant – they had made it because they believed in each other, in their relationship, enough to face it all together. He also remembered Niall’s incessant teasing about being stuck in the middle of two Disney romances.

His voice softened, a bit of whimsical hopefulness creeping into his next words. 

“I want the fairytale, Mum.”

_“Then don’t you think it’s time you slayed your dragons and stormed the castle? Your prince is waiting for you to find him.”_

**∞∞∞**

Zayn quietly entered the house, his mother’s words reverberating in his heart. He could have entered with a performing marching band and a squadron of emergency vehicles with full lights and sirens, for all the difference the effort would have made. The added soundproofing he’d had installed did little to muffle the pounding bass and guitars that gently rattled the pictures hanging on the wall, its origin a beacon to guide him right to Liam’s location. Short of him having left the house completely while Zayn was gone, he knew exactly where Liam would be when he returned. It was never hard to find Liam when he was troubled. _My true vocation, and now my unfortunate friend, you will discover a war you're unable to win._ Zayn’s eyebrows lifted, the music belting from the gym a far cry from the American rap that dominated Liam’s playlists.

Working out was Liam’s escape. When Liam let his guard down, the flood of emotions and negative thoughts that plagued him escaped, feeding the myriad doubts that had haunted him for years. The only solution he had was to exhaust himself by beating his body into submission. While Liam was fit as fuck when he was stressed, he never really dealt with eradicating the demons, only shoving them to the back of the closet until another moment of weakness released them again.  

_Avoiding dealing with issues seems to be the hallmark of our relationship._

Zayn winced at the voice in his head, knowing that even if he didn’t want to face it, his subconscious wasn’t going to let it slip away unacknowledged.

They were both so fucked up. Could two people with so much baggage between them really find a way to make things work? Zayn shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor next to the boots he’d kicked off when he came in the door. On stocking feet, he padded to the stairs, bracing himself for what he’d find when he reached the bottom.

**∞∞∞**

Liam had no idea how long he’d been taking out his frustrations on the bag, his hands nearly numb from the relentless assault, the muscles in his arms screaming in protest with every successive swing. He paused, swiping an arm across his eyes to dash away the sweat and frustrated tears, when wiry arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. The familiar scent of musk, spice, and sandalwood filled his senses, accompanied by the lingering remnants of cigarette smoke. Slumping forward, Liam leaned his head against the punching bag, the fight draining out of him as swiftly as it had built to its crescendo. The arms released him, calloused hands moving to his shoulders to work against the tense, knotted muscles.

“’m sorry,” Liam mumbled.

Zayn sighed heavily. “I don’t want your apologies, Li.”

Shrugging off Zayn’s hands, Liam walked away, contrition weighing heavily on his shoulders, tarnishing every word that followed. “Because you can’t forgive me.”

Every resolution Zayn had made to be empathetic melted under Liam’s continued lack of faith. Despite all that they had been through for the past eighteen months, Liam still caved under the slightest bit of stress. It wasn’t just that he didn’t believe that he had Zayn’s love, it was that Liam couldn’t see how much he was worth loving in the first place. Zayn didn’t understand why he felt that way, but after all this time, and compiled with all the bullshit currently hitting the fan, it was enough to push him too far. The tempered anger broke its barricades and surged forth, erupting in a red haze demanding release.

“Damn it, Liam! Stop putting words in my mouth!” Zayn picked a boxing glove up off the floor and threw it across the room, sending it careening into the mirror that ran from floor to ceiling the entire length of the wall. Liam stopped short, flinching when the glove flew back, hitting the mat and rolling to rest in front of him. “Why the fuck do you do that? What the hell is going on in your head, that you think it’s so easy for me to walk away from us? Is that what you want?” Frustrated, Zayn dragged his hand across the back of his neck, his voice lowering. “You want to end it? ‘Cause that’s what it sounds like.”

Stubbornly, Liam kept his back turned to Zayn, his voice barely a whisper. “You don’t understand.”

“Because you won’t let me! You bury everything, put up a wall like you don’t give a shit; that it’s all whatever, when I know – I fucking _know_ \- you’re pissed off.”

Liam whirled to face him, anger blazing in his eyes. “Don’t try to blame this all on me; you walked out!”

“Oh bullshit, Liam! You, of all people, understand why I needed to leave.” Zayn stalked over to Liam, forcing him to take a step back. Liam stiffened, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, the busted knuckles throbbing in protest under the constricting tape. Zayn’s eyes flickered to Liam’s hands, then back to his face. “You wanna fight? Go ahead; take a swing,” Zayn taunted, lip curling in a sneer. “I can handle anything you can dish out.”

“’m not gonna hit you, Zee.”

“No, of course you won’t. Instead, you’ll be a moody arsehole, pulling idiotic stunts and endangering your life, all because you don’t have the balls to actually tell me what you’re afraid of.” Zayn grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the mirror. “Damn it, Li! What are you so fucking afraid of?”

“Us! I’m fucking afraid of us!” Liam roared, planting his palm in the middle of Zayn’s chest, fingers twisting in the thin cotton of his t-shirt. “I’m afraid of this house of cards crashing down around our heads, of destroying everything we’ve all worked so hard for!” Liam’s nostrils flared, his heart racing in panic at giving voice to everything that haunted him. “I’m afraid of how much it hurts to be with you, and how much more it hurts when you’re away. I just . . . I’m fucking scared all the time.” He folded in on himself, his last words barely an anguished whisper. “I’m scared of losing you.”

“So you push me away instead? How does that even add up in your mind? You hurt me first, so I can’t hurt you – is that it?”

The fiery amber of Zayn’s eyes bore into Liam, tearing at his soul and causing him to turn away under their furious glare.

“No, you’re not running away from this, damn it. Look at me!” Zayn grabbed Liam’s chin, the skin whitening under the pressure from his fingers, forcing Liam to meet his eyes. “I’m here babe, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t you get it? It’s going to take a helluva lot more than anything you can come up with to run me off.”

“Prove it.” Liam licked his lips, voice dropping to a husky whisper.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing this may well be one of the hardest things I've ever done. So much has changed since I wrote the beginning paragraphs, and on more than one occasion I came damn close to deleting the whole thing. 
> 
> If it weren't for the support of several friends pushing me behind the scenes, that scenario likely would have come to pass. Thankfully, they never gave up on me, and had faith when I had none of my own left. So, my eternal gratitude to lululawrence and conscious-ramblings for believing in me. And if you're still here to read this, my gratitude to you as well.
> 
> This is almost 5K words of smut - I make no apologies for that.

Distracted by the pink flick of Liam’s tongue across his obscenely plump, cherry lips, the way they formed around the words he didn’t hear; Zayn struggled against the tempered fury he’d fought to keep under control since Doniya’s phone call.

Anger and passion are reflections of each other; emotional responses triggered by the merest hairsbreadth of stimuli, and Zayn retained little control over the omnipresent arousal that being near Liam evoked. He’d fought against his feelings for so long, that now being able to act on it whenever he wanted had become its own aphrodisiac. Desire overwhelmed him, bursting into a conflagration that careened through his blood, a raging wildfire of want and need. Fighting against the surging rush, Zayn struggled to comprehend Liam’s response.

“What?” Zayn asked distractedly, his eyes drawn to the play of skin over muscle along the length of Liam’s neck. The birthmark bobbed when Liam swallowed, a tantalizing beacon that had fueled many of Zayn’s fantasies long before Liam had brought them to life. Liam tightened his grip on Zayn’s shirt, the battered tape on his knuckles splitting under the strain, the welted skin broken, blood seeping into the crevices left behind.

“I said,” Liam growled low in his throat, his fingers catching in the neckline and jerking down to tear the worn fabric to the hem, “Prove it.”

A flicker of burning arousal flashed in Zayn’s eyes, catching Liam off guard. Surging forward, Zayn twisted his body in one smooth fluid movement, dropping Liam to the exercise mat, Liam’s breath leaving him in a pained whoosh. Before he could react, Zayn grabbed his wrists, pinning the larger man’s arms on either side of their heads. The element of surprise was the only advantage Zayn had; he didn’t intend to waste it. Their mouths crashed together, the kiss punishing, teeth digging into tender skin, need overwhelming common sense. Liam’s lips parted under the onslaught, Zayn’s tongue licking into his mouth, the faint taste of copper from his split lip not slowing him in his need to taste . . . to devour . . . _to claim_.

Releasing one arm, Zayn tangled his fingers in Liam’s hair, pulling his head back to savage the birthmark on his throat, narrow hips pressing down, rocking against the muscular thigh he straddled. Liam moaned in response, the vibration rattling through his body, spurring Zayn on. Zayn barely registered Liam tugging off the remnants of the ruined shirt, adrift in his sensual assault on Liam’s body. Sweat-laden skin glowed in the light reflecting off the mirrors, dusky rose nipples hardening when Zayn’s teeth dragged across the tender skin. Liam arched his back in response; jagged, blunt nails scratching down Zayn’s back. Large hands moved lower, scrabbling for purchase to shove away the elastic waist of the loose-fitting joggers and grasp Zayn’s ass, pulling him even closer. Zayn’s heart raced, blood thundering through his veins, the rhythmic rush drowning out everything but the guttural whispers of the man underneath him.

Zayn leaned up, gasping his words out between each breath he fought to reclaim. “This isn’t going to solve anything.”

Hooking his leg high around Zayn’s thigh, Liam pulled a hand free from under the worn sweats. He palmed the back of Zayn’s head, nudging his nose against Zayn’s mouth, then replacing it with his own lips.

“Just . . . let me forget. For a minute . . . an hour . . .” Liam pleaded low, his voice a raspy moan that sent sparks careening down Zayn’s spine. “If I can’t have a lifetime of peace, let me have now. Drown out the world for me.”

Zayn wavered; resolve buckling under the plaintive want in Liam’s words. Dropping his gaze, he returned his attention to the planes of Liam’s body, angles and valleys he knew better than he knew his own. Palming Liam through the straining cotton of his joggers, Zayn reveled in the way Liam’s body responded to each seeking pass of his hand, to every moist swipe of his tongue across the salt-tinged skin. An answering moan built low in Zayn’s chest, breaking free when Liam’s hips lifted, rutting against Zayn in desperation.

Zayn nudged him with his forehead, claiming Liam’s mouth again when his lust-filled eyes lifted to meet Zayn’s. Nipping the curved bow of Zayn’s lip, Liam’s tongue darted between gasped lips to plunder the recesses of Zayn’s mouth; one hand gripping his neck while the fingers of the other dug into the smaller man’s hip. The thrashing guitars from the surround sound barely permeated the lust induced fog that clouded his brain, brought on by Liam’s uncharacteristic aggressiveness. Sliding his hands across the nubby fabric of Liam’s joggers, Zayn gripped Liam’s hips, the soft cotton damp with sweat and warmed by his heated skin. He twisted his fingers, finding purchase in the elastic waistband to drag the fabric down, Liam’s thick cock springing free to bounce back against the rippled planes of his abdomen. Desperate for air, Zayn reluctantly broke away from the kiss, and then slid lower, raining kisses down the chestnut hued trail of hair on Liam’s taut abdomen. Shoving the joggers the rest of the way down Liam’s thighs, Zayn dragged his tongue along the deep v line that creased the top of Liam’s hips. Liam’s dick twitched under the teasing breaths billowing over his heated skin, the reddened head pushing through the foreskin to leak copiously across his stomach.

Liam’s fingers threaded through Zayn’s hair, his name falling in a chant from his lips, punctuated by mewling whimpers. Smirking up at Liam, Zayn nipped the pale skin on his hipbone. Sucking the tender flesh between his teeth; he wrapped one hand around Liam’s turgid length, the other pressing his hip into the mat to hold him still. With slow teasing strokes, Zayn worked him over, his palm glossing around the head to gather the pre-come beading at his slit, the friction of the foreskin over the engorged crown intensifying each sensation. Liam’s breath left him in a hiss, his legs quivering as Zayn released the bruised flesh from his teeth, laving the mark left behind with languid strokes of his tongue.

“Shit! Zayn …too much. . . I . . . fuck!” Liam mumbled, crumbling under the weight of his own want.

Through lowered eyes Liam watched Zayn, the heat of Liam’s gaze shooting straight to his own aching cock. Ignoring his own throbbing need, Zayn traced his tongue up the silky underside of Liam’s shaft, catching the thread of fluid dripping from the reddened tip, then engulfing it with his mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, Zayn drew on the sensitive head, his hand sliding the foreskin back to circle the ridge with the pointed tip of his tongue, whilst relishing the grasping pull of Liam’s strong hands in his hair. Bobbing his head in agonizingly slow movements, Zayn worked his way down the shaft, leaving a glistening trail of saliva each time he drew back to the head. Finally taking him to the hilt, Zayn breathed in the familiar woodsy scent that lingered in the tight curls, a scent wholly Liam’s. Swallowing around the filling girth, Zayn reluctantly drew back for more air, then plunged down his length again. Liam’s whimpers turned to growling pants, followed by a keening wail when Zayn cupped his heavy sac, the tips of his fingers sliding back to tease along his perineum. Liam clawed at Zayn’s shoulders, trying to stave off the driving need that threatened to engulf him, while his hips twisted up to press against the questing fingers and fuck into the enveloping warmth of Zayn’s mouth.

It was only when Liam’s fingers twisted in Zayn’s hair tight enough to draw tears, whilst the other hand stroked across Zayn’s aching jaw that Zayn drew off again and leaned back. His hand continued to move, palming around the engorged cockhead on alternating strokes, the accumulating pre-come mingling with the saliva to smooth his stokes.

Liam’s hand slid under Zayn’s chin and Zayn lifted his eyes to meet the molten heat of his fiancé’s gaze, his voice a harsh rasp. “C’mere.” Liam leaned up, meeting him halfway. He nipped his way across Zayn’s jaw line, then followed the curve of his neck with his tongue, before diving back in to devour his mouth.

Liam’s kiss was demanding, the tips of his fingers sliding down the line of Zayn’s spine, his hands finally managing to shove Zayn’s joggers down off his pert ass. The burst of cool air across his heated cock caused Zayn to shiver, his strokes out of sync when he lost his balance at the sensation. Liam gathered Zayn close, pulling him up to straddle Liam’s legs, his foot shoving the bunched fabric the rest of the way down Zayn’s legs. He bent his knees for Zayn to brace himself against; his fingers teased down along his crack, mewling when Zayn arched against him, Zayn’s own cock bouncing above where he stroked Liam. Zayn broke stroke, adding his own cock to his grip and jacked them both, the flushed heads peeking out of his hand with every stroke, a steady stream of moisture coating their hands and throbbing shafts. Liam dug his heels into the mat, lifting his hips to rock them together, desperation in his every movement. Pushing Zayn’s hand away, Liam took over, each stroke pulling them closer and closer to the edge.

“Li…God, babe…I…I…yeah, so fucking good,” Zayn growled, the coiling tension tightening his sac against his body, his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Zayn wanted, _needed_ , to be buried balls deep in Liam when he came. He needed it all - needed his smell, his touch, the way he came undone when he reached his peak. Zayn grabbed Liam’s wrist to slow him down, when he realized he there was no way in hell that was happening. They were in the training room, two floors away from the lube that resided in their night table drawer.

Sensing the shift in Zayn’s mood, Liam slowed his hand, trailing the other up the concave plane of Zayn’s abdomen, before stroking circles around a darkened areola. Wincing at the deliciously painful tweak Liam followed the tender touch with, Zayn’s eyes fluttered shut. His mind warred with the driving passion that threatened to overcome him.

“Babe…” Liam wavered, his hand stilling.

Zayn knew that tone. It was the same one that crept into Liam’s voice every time someone made him feel inferior.

Stroking his thumb across the pulse thrumming underneath it, Zayn opened his eyes to meet the hesitant anxiousness in Liam’s. Softening his voice in reassurance that Liam wasn’t being rejected, Zayn released the breath he’d been holding.  

“The room isn’t properly equipped for this, Li.”

Liam blinked, confusion quickly replaced by realization.

“Oh…ooooohhhhhhhhh.” Liam’s drawn out response in comprehension did nothing to stop the tingling at the base of Zayn’s spine, especially since Liam’s hand continued to move over them both. Leaning forward, Liam whispered against his lips, “This works. Let me make you feel good.” He kissed Zayn again, his hand picking back up the tempo.

Digging his fingers into the mat, Zayn looked away, wanting more than they could have. His gaze fell on the cluttered table in the corner. Rolls of tape, water bottles, chalk, talc, scissors . . . nothing. Then he saw it. The tub of petroleum jelly Liam used to loosen the tape residue from his skin after working out. The thick, viscous goop created a slippery mess, spread everywhere, and was an absolute bitch to clean up.

Messy . . . slippery . . . effective.

Perfect.

Tightening his grip on Liam’s wrist, Zayn stopped his concerted ministrations.

“Wait, I’ve got an idea.” Rolling off the man sprawled out underneath him; Zayn leaned over to drag his tongue down Liam’s chest, whorling through the hair on his abdomen, before sliding around his shaft to taste their mingled pre-come. “Don’t move.”

Liam snorted in response, before letting an anguished whine escape him at the loss of Zayn’s warmth. Crawling across the mat, Zayn felt Liam’s gaze burning across his exposed skin. Blindly fumbling through the clutter on the table, his fingers brushed against, then circled around the angular little tub. Snatching a towel from a pile on the chair, he made his way back across the floor to where his fiancé reclined, a languid hand stroking around the base of his turgid cock.

Zayn’s breath hitched at the sight of the casual sensuality spread out before him, beckoning him to indulge and savor its decadence.

Liam quirked an eyebrow, his movements more deliberate, the merest hint of an inviting smirk teasing the corner of his mouth when he spied the jar in Zayn’s hand “Industrious sort, then? And here everyone thinks I’m the Boy Scout.”

“Hush it. Needs must and all that,” Zayn muttered, settling himself between Liam’s knees again and pushing at the muscular thighs spread wide before him. “Lift your arse.” When Liam complied, Zayn slid the towel underneath to prevent the goopy mess from spreading everywhere, before dragging his tongue up the crease of Liam’s v-line.

Smirking at the harsh rasp to Liam’s growling moan, Zayn flicked open the hinged top to the jar. It wouldn’t take much; they’d spent more time in bed than out the past few days and were both well fucked - just a bit to slick the way. He crooked his finger, scooping up a glob, the other hand sliding down the inside of Liam’s thigh, the coarse, caramel colored hair still damp with sweat.  Zayn rubbed the gelatinous goop across his fingers, then leaned in over Liam, fingers unerringly snubbing up against Liam’s hole. Liam shuddered, the corner of his lip white where his teeth worried the plump flesh. His body responded reflexively, automatically pressing against the calloused pad of Zayn’s thumb as it circled the opening, the viscous jelly spreading easily against the heated flesh.

“Yeah, that’s it, babe,” Zayn muttered, his finger breaching the ring of muscle.

Liam relaxed against the pressure, his breath leaving him in a whimper, quickly muffled when Zayn claimed his lips again.  With a miniscule twist of his wrist, Zayn’s thumb pressed down on Liam’s rim, stretching him wider, his index finger sliding deeper. Liam’s hips lifted in response, wordlessly seeking more, his thigh quivering against Zayn’s arm as he met each twisting stroke.  Zayn pulled back, curling his finger to push outward around the inside of the rim, a second finger joining the first, Zayn’s thumb still smearing lubricant around the outer rim.  

Liam responded with a gasping whine, Zayn’s fingers thrusting deep, then twisting while he eased them out, seeking the sweet spot that would have Liam writhing in no time. With a coy look from under heavy eyelids, Zayn leaned back to return his mouth back to Liam’s turgid cock. Licking from tip to base, then mouthing at the smooth sac, Zayn braced Liam’s hip to the mat with his forearm, the plunging strokes of his fingers finding what he sought.

Liam’s arm flew over his own face, biting his bicep to restrain himself from bucking against the delightful torture Zayn inflicted. “FUCK! I’m rea – SHIT – ready, Zayn. Arrrgghh, fuck! Zayn need you. Right. Fucking. Now.” Liam growled, spreading his legs wider and bearing down.

“Yeah . . . yeah. “

Zayn withdrew his fingers, dragging them across the towel, before smearing his aching cock with a bit more of the petroleum jelly. Pushing Liam’s knee up, he shrugged his shoulder underneath it, cursing when he missed his mark the first time, the combined lubricant a slippery mess. Grabbing the base of his shaft, Zayn pressed in again. A litany of curses, mingled with Zayn’s name, fell from Liam’s lips when Zayn breached the furled opening, causing him to pause.

“Don’t. . .  fucking . . . stop . . . .now,” Liam hissed between tightly clenched teeth, canting his hips toward Zayn’s. “Wanna feel all of you.”

Pushing forward a bit more, Zayn rocked his hips back, then pressed a hair deeper. Rolling his hips to pull back again, Zayn paused to reposition Liam’s leg. He kissed the taut muscle in Liam’s calf, then thrust forward again, not stopping until he was balls deep.

“Fuck!” They both exclaimed.

They rocked and thrust in unison, the earlier tension quickly rebuilt, both teetering on the edge. Zayn slid his palms under Liam’s ass, seeking purchase on the slick flesh covered in a heavy sheen of sweat and lubricant. His hips snapped into Liam, all rhythm lost while Zayn chased relief from the tension knotting every inch of his spine. Liam’s dick bobbed between them, pre-come pooling in the divots of his abdomen.

Letting go with his right hand, Zayn slid it around Liam’s lightly furred thigh, intent on stroking him to completion. He wrapped his fist around the throbbing shaft, sliding the retracted foreskin up and down over the reddened head, and pressing the calloused pad of his thumb against the leaking slit. With a shout, Liam tensed, his legs sliding down to tighten around Zayn’s narrow hips to hold Zayn buried deep inside as he came, milky stripes arcing out to land across the quivering muscles of his torso. Zayn’s eyes widened, nostrils flaring in reaction to the erotic sight under him, but he held still, his mind overriding his body’s need to retreat and thrust again. It was only when he felt Liam’s ankles unlock, his heels pressing hard into Zayn’s ass that Zayn moved again.  

Easing himself free of Liam, he ignored the keening whimper from his fiancé. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Liam’s body and dragged the plaint larger man up into a filthy kiss, then sat back on his heels and positioned Liam across his lap. Liam dropped his forehead to Zayn’s shoulder, sweat rolling between them and trickling down their heaving chests. Liam steadied himself, wrapping one arm around Zayn’s shoulder, his other hand resting against the wiry thigh under him, and wriggled his ass against Zayn, the still turgid cock sliding along the slick crease.

“Yeah babe, you want more?” Zayn murmured. Liam moved again, nodding into the crook of Zayn’s neck, his tongue darting out to lick away the sweat pooling near his lip. Zayn shivered at the raspy drag of Liam’s scruff against his skin, and then pushed Liam upright before leaning back on his own hands.

“Then ride me, _jaan_. Take what you need,” Zayn crooned, pressing his crotch up into Liam’s ass.  

Liam leaned into Zayn, knees braced on the floor to steady himself, and reached behind him, wrapping his hand around Zayn’s cock to hold it steady. Pushing up on his knees, he positioned the head at his opening, sinking down onto the thick shaft with a shaky sigh. Once he’d settled, nestled in the welcoming concave of Zayn’s lap, he lifted his head, the deep brown depths of his eyes near invisible behind the blown wide pupils.  

“Yeah. . . .” Liam croaked, his throat dry from breathing through his mouth. Clearing his throat, he tried again to speak. “Yeah – I, yeah.”

He lifted his hips, tightening his buttocks as he moved, then sank back down with a grunt. Zayn moaned in response and hooked an arm around Liam’s waist to pull himself back upright, hands sliding to grasp Liam’s ass. His thumbs dug in near the top of the globes, his long fingers grazing against the stretched opening that clenched around him.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Liam whispered, rolling his hips, before lifting away again.  

He hovered at the edge, the tip of Zayn’s cock at his rim, then shifted his body to slide down, pushing the head across his prostate, his satisfied smirk dissolving into a keening wail of pleasure. He did it again and again, his own cock thickening once more between them from the delicious friction and Zayn teasingly stroking the taut flesh of his opening; a finger breaching the ring of muscle to slide tightly in counterstrokes to their thrusting hips.  

Zayn wrapped his free arm around Liam’s waist again, canting his hips into each thrust, the muscles in his thighs burning at the strain of holding them both upright. His teeth grazed a wicked scratch across the tendons of Liam’s neck, then moving down to the hardened bud of his nipple. Liam moaned, the muscles in his body reflexively tightening in response to the added stimuli, his fingers twining through the damp raven tendrils at the nape of Zayn’s neck, each stroke exquisite torture pushing him closer to the edge again.  Zayn felt the familiar tightening in his groin and slipped his finger free from the constricting muscles of Liam’s rim to grip the sweat-slicked skin of Liam’s hip. He growled, teeth savaging the tender flesh of Liam’s nipple, while he jerked Liam down into another driving thrust, his body shuddering as his orgasm racked through him. His arm tightened around Liam’s waist for support, his face buried in Liam’s chest, the damp warmth of his ragged breathing eliciting a shivering response from the man tangled around him.

Liam shifted his weight and Zayn hissed, hypersensitivity firing off every synapse in his body. The barrel chest under him rumbled with a muffled apology, and Zayn whipped his head up to seek out the familiar whiskey-colored eyes he’d been drowning in for the last three years.

“Stop apologizing, Liam,” Zayn whispered, bringing his hand up to stroke away the deep creases that marred Liam’s brow, before letting his hand rest against his cheek. “Stop worrying about trying to make everyone else happy, and let yourself be happy, instead.”

Liam’s eyelids flickered shut, and he sighed, pressing into Zayn’s calloused palm. “I’m trying, honest. But . . .” his voice trailed off.

“What, _jaan_?”

“It’s just . . . “Liam blinked slowly, a devilish glint taking over his frightened puppy gaze. “ Can we not discuss this whilst you’re balls deep and my dick is so hard a stiff wind could get me off?”

Laughter erupted from both of them, and they toppled back, leaving Zayn wincing as he eased himself free of Liam’s arse. He hovered over his fiancé, eyes raking down over the sweat-matted hair of Liam’s chest, before coming to rest on Liam’s dick bobbing over the sculpted planes of his abdomen.

“Want me to touch you?” His tapered fingers drifted between them, teasing along the length of Liam’s turgid shaft. It twitched in response, releasing a blurt of come from the slit.

“Or should I suck you off?” Zayn bent forward, chasing the thick, milky drop with the tip of his tongue, He let it linger there, sable lashes fluttering closed to dance across his cheeks.  A throaty moan escaped Liam at the sight, then he leaned up to cover Zayn’s mouth with his own.

Zayn continued to stroke, his grip too lax to bring relief, but just firm enough to have Liam clawing at his arm to pull him closer. Zayn grabbed Liam’s wrist with his other hand, pushing it out of the way, dragging his mouth free. “No, baby. Tell me what you want.”

He straddled Liam’s thighs, sliding up until Liam was nestled between his arse cheeks. “Want my hole?” Zayn ground down, dragging across the hot pulse of Liam’s cock, the tip catching on his rim. Liam rutted up, Zayn’s breathy murmur tickling his ear. “Want me to ride you, too?”

“This - fucking hell! Yeah . . . This . . .this -” Liam huffed, rocking his hips up to meet Zayn’s backward slide, the skin on Zayn’s narrow hips going pale under Liam’s tightening grip, Swallowing hard to moisten his dry throat, he tried again to speak. “ ‘S good. Just need to feel you.”

“This enough?” Zayn asked, then splayed his hand in the middle of Liam’s chest for leverage, and gyrated his hips, the slick drag eliciting a gasping, incoherent stream of curses. The corner of his lip curled in a smirk, his tongue slipping across his chapped lips. “Hmmmm. Guess so.” He slid the length of Liam’s shaft again.

Leaning over, Zayn dug his fingers into the container of petroleum jelly, his attention more focused on the man beneath him than the mess he was creating. Liam vibrated, every nerve in his body tighter than a drawn bow string.

“Just let me . . .need a bit more. . .”

Zayn slid back onto Liam’s thighs, bracing on foot on the mat to lift himself to reach between their bodies, his fingers sliding along the crack of his arse to add another layer of slick between them, Then, gripping Liam’s flexing bicep, he allowed himself to be pulled forward again, Liam’s hands sliding to Zayn’s arse and drawing him down tighter against his groin. His free hand reached between them, forming a tight circle around the head of Liam’s cock, whilst Liam rubbed himself off, any sense of rhythm lost in the frenzied quest for completion.

Liam’s eyes were clenched shut, head thrown back and the tendons of his neck straining against the wordless shout that erupted from him, the combined sensations pushing him over the edge. His body convulsed, cock swelling against Zayn’s grip, then releasing, come coating Zayn’s fingers and striping across his stomach. Still Liam thrust against Zayn’s hand, milking himself until he had nothing left, then gathered Zayn against his chest, oblivious to the mess between them.

Crumpled, spent, and exhausted, they laid on the exercise mats, tangled up in each other, their sweat-soaked bodies shivering in the aftermath. Liam’s large hands spanned the narrow expanse of Zayn’s back, idling stroking the length of his spine - each ridge and groove mapped deep within his subconscious.

“Babe?”

“Mmmmhhhmmmmmm?” Liam hummed into Zayn’s neck, contentment seeping into his veins and leaving him redolent in its wake.

“Li? We need a shower.”

“Don’ wanna move- comf’ble.”

“You won’t be saying that when we remove a layer of flesh later, from being stuck together, when one of us has to get up and take a piss,” Zayn teased, his fingers tracing a tickling march along the still corded tendons of Liam’s arm.

Liam heaved a sigh, tightening his arms around Zayn before rolling them over. He planted his hands on the mat, lifting his weight off the smaller man, and looked down at his love’s face.

“We really gotta?” he whispered.

“Yeah, really really gotta,” Zayn replied, his voice just as low and tender, while the pad of his thumb rubbed along the full pout of Liam’s lower lip. “You find the towels. I’ll go warm the water up.”

With another sigh, followed by a groan, Liam pushed himself to his feet, pulling Zayn up with him. With a playful swat on the arse, Zayn sent him on his way to the linen closet, before opening the door of the free-standing shower tucked into a far corner away from the exercise equipment. He turned the water on, twisting the taps until a burst of steam billowed out into the room. Stepping in, he reached for the showerhead, adjusting the pulsating spray of hot water away from the tiled wall and into the center of the stall, before stepping under to begin washing up.  

Zayn felt the temperature drop when Liam opened the tempered glass door, felt the chill of Liam’s body pressed against his back when he joined him under the showerhead.

“Let me take care of you,” Zayn murmured, tugging Liam in front of him into the shower spray. Zayn ran his hands through Liam’s hair, saturating the curling tendrils, before reaching for the shampoo. Zayn worked the lather in; nails gently scratching across Liam’s scalp, pressing his fingers into the knotted muscles at the base of Liam’s neck. When Liam’s shoulders slumped, head hanging lax against his chest, the tension washing away with the residual bubbles that flowed down the drain, Zayn turned his attention to Liam’s body.

The familiar crisp woodland scent of Liam’s body wash filled the air when Zayn squirted it into the flannel. Taking his time, he lathered Liam’s body, hands and fingers kneading the tight muscles he encountered along the way. The water sluiced across broad shoulders, rivulets of soap mapping its way down the defined planes of his torso.  Changing his focus, Zayn knelt in front of him to wash his legs, lifting first one, then the other. Liam’s muscles flexed under each touch, still he stood quietly and allowed Zayn to take care of him. A small gasp escaped Liam when Zayn drew the cloth down his buttocks and between his legs, across his sac and shaft, the ministrations in no way sexual, but sensual in the attention lavished on his fiancé. When he finished, Zayn pressed a kiss against Liam’s hip bone, then rested his head against the washboard stomach, hands stroking along the back of his thighs, his arse, before coming to rest at the base of his spine. Bemused and humbled by the man supplicant in front of him, Liam stroked his hair away from his face.

“I love you, Li,” Zayn said simply, his voice soft and melodic, even over the roar of the water surrounding them. “Some days, that’s all I have to hold on to, to keep dragging myself through the shite that they throw at all of us.” He felt Liam shift under him, and tightened his arms. “Let me finish, _jaan._ What we do, getting on that stage every night, singing for people all over the world - that’s . . . it’s more than I ever could have dreamed of when Mum dragged me from bed that morning. The boys, our friendships, everything we’ve accomplished - it’s a gift, and I know it. But you - having you . . . loving you - some days it’s the only reason I’m still sane. So I get it, alright? I know sometimes you have to scream before it all tears you down. But I can’t lose you, Liam. I just . . . I need you to keep me grounded, to remind me why we’re still fighting.” Zayn fell silent, his forehead pressed against Liam’s skin, tears he hadn’t realized were falling, slipping down his cheeks.

Shaking fingers dragged through the wet strands of hair plastered to Zayn’s head, drifted to cup his head, and Zayn looked up to meet Liam’s confused, hopeless gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll . . . I . . .,” Liam stuttered, struggling to find the words that always seemed to escape him. “I’ll call that doctor, the one Ann-Marie recommended. Talk to him about how to deal with -,” his hand flapped helplessly in the air, as if trying to grasp something slipping through his fingers, “all of this. You’re right. It _is_ a gift, but sometimes it feels double-edged. And when it gets really hard, I feel like you’re pulling away.” Zayn opened his mouth, and Liam stopped him with a soft finger pressed against his lips. “You had your turn, now let me.” Zayn closed his mouth, pressing a kiss on the silencing digit. “They’re my feelings, right or wrong, and I need to figure out how to deal with them, how to not let them take control and push the truth down under a barrage of negative thoughts. That’s on me, and I’ve been shite at handling it right. And we don’t talk enough - not about the bad stuff, about the things that scare us, about the bullshit. That’s on both of us, but you don’t know if I don’t talk, just like I don’t know if you bottle everything up, too. And we gotta figure that out, Zee. ‘Cause I love you, too. But I don’t love you because I need you. You give me strength, teach me to believe in myself, and I need that. Even before you and I became us, you gave me the confidence to be myself. And for us, I wanna make this work. Together.”

Liam brushed the tears from Zayn’s cheeks before pulling him to his feet. Reaching behind him, he turned off the taps, opening the door to find the towels he’d left hanging on the towel bar. He wrapped one around each of them and led Zayn from the shower, then up to their room. Wordlessly, they dried each other off, slipping naked back into the bed they’d abandoned hours earlier when reality broke through the bubble they’d built around themselves. In hushed whispers, Zayn warned Liam of what management’s solution was for dealing with the pictures, omitting some of the shittier parts of the conversation. Liam promised to call both their mums and apologize for scaring everyone.

As sleep slowed dragged at them, eyes lowered against the emotional weight of the day, Liam tucked Zayn closer against his heart.

“Come away with me.”

“Anywhere, anytime, Li.”

‘No, seriously.” Zayn leaned back to meet Liam’s pleading eyes. “I know we hadn’t planned for you to come with my family on vacation because we’ve had so little time home, but . . . come with me. We can make it work and no one has to know if we take separate flights or make it look like you’ve never left. Please, Zee? Run away with me to paradise.”

Zayn drew Liam into a drowning kiss, both of them breathless when they parted. Resting his head back on Liam’s heart, he kissed the warm flesh and repeated himself.  

“Anywhere, anytime, Li. You lead, I’ll follow.”  

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this part of Liam and Zayn's story. I thank you so much of you've stuck it out and patiently waited for me to finish, and I hope you're happy with where its found itself. I'm going to combine this and The Reason I Hold On into one 'verse, since they are my headcanons of 2013/2014. Maybe some day I'll revisit this 'verse, as there are so many possibilities of where a continuation could go. 
> 
> For now, though, I'm letting Zayn and Liam go, and working on the other fics that are languishing in my docs. Please feel free to leave your comments below, or visit me on tumblr to talk about my writing. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading.


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